Just Like You
by ImagineThis22
Summary: Sherlock and Joan meet a young girl with many secrets. They know she'd be a great help in their future investigations, but will she go along with it? Or will she prove too big of a problem for the NYPD...or the state of NY for that matter. *Please read!* I own my original character of Macey, but not Joan or Sherlock. Enjoy! :)
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: I own the character of Macey Ann…nothing else. This chapter is a prologue (sorta). It introduces Macey to you and the next chapter will be shorter…:) ENJOY! P.s. THE LAST CHAPTER OF ITS ME OR IRENE WILL BE UP SOON! :) JUST WANTED TO GET THIS OUT THERE NOW!_**

**LONDON- PRESENT DAY**

"Macey! Wake up!" Three hard thuds sounded on the oak door of Macey's assigned room –or her assigned prison cell, as she called it.

Macey lifted her head and rolled her squinted eyes at the closed, locked door. She rested her head back down on her lumpy mattress that was void of sheets and blankets and shut her eyes, hoping to succumb to sweet, dreamless sleep. Sheets and blankets were a luxury when you lived in a house specifically designed for young juvenile women, like Macey did. There were rarely any nights that you'd be fine with having no blankets to keep you safe and warm, but like Ms. Winston said, "Blankets and sheets are a privilege and are meant for _good_ little girls. You girls are _not_ good little girls."

"_Macey_! Get your _ass_ out of that bed, young lady!" Ms. Winston's manly voice boomed through the paper thin wall, her patience clearly wearing thin. She pounded on the door continuously, each thud getting stronger and angrier.

Macey let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine." The pounding didn't cease. "_Fine_! I'm coming!" Macey jumped up from the bed and walked the length to the door. The banging on the door hadn't stopped and she contemplated even walking up to the door, fearing that the insistent pounding would make the door fly off the hinges and crush her beneath the solid oak. Macey pushed the fears away and yanked the door open, almost getting hit in the head as she did so when Ms. Winston's fist aimed for where the closed door used to be. Lucky for Macey, Ms. Winston had cat-like reflexes. It made sense though, seeing as Ms. Winston was trained in the art of self-defense. She would have to be if she was to live in a house of juveniles who could go on an angry, vengeful rampage at any moment.

"Macey!" Ms. Winston gasped in disgust. "You look awful! Have you even washed your rat-nest you call hair today?"

Macey rolled her eyes as she pushed past Ms. Winston and the small crowd of onlookers the situation had created. "I just woke up. What do you think?" Macey snapped back, headed towards the small, cheap bathroom that was shared by every juvenile on the second floor of the house.

Each floor had one bathroom, ten rooms, and a small sitting room. Nobody used the sitting room, seeing as nobody really talked to each other in the house. They were all here to serve their sentence, not make friends. The ground floor had a larger sitting room, a kitchen with small necessary appliances, a dining room table –again, never used- and a master bedroom complete with a walk-in closet, private bathroom, a mini-fridge, a home theatre system, and a desktop computer.

The grand, dream-like room belonged to Ms. Winston, the parole officer in charge of the twenty girls who occupied the small, rickety, old 1920's farmhouse.

From the outside, the house looked abandoned, almost like a graveyard for forgotten, dead dreams.

_That's how it feels, so, spot on_, Macey thought.

"Hurry up and take your shower! We need to get to the airport _extra_ early, Macey!" Ms. Winston called after her.

Macey shut the bathroom door and leaned against it, sighing at the feeling of finally being alone…at least for the ten minutes she was allowed. She started the water and undressed, tossing her clothes into the corner. Macey stepped into the mildew covered shower and shivered. The water was cold, which she shouldn't have been surprised at…it always was.

Macey shampooed and conditioned, leaving washing her body for last. She grabbed the cheap bar of soap –a soap bar like the ones you would find at a hotel- and lathered the dirty parts of her body. She placed the soap back into its rightful place and shut the water off. She pushed the shower curtain to the side and reached for a towel. Her hand grabbed air…she had forgotten her towel in the room.

"Shit…" Macey cussed under her breath. She searched the small space for any sort of cloth she could dry off with, but there was nothing. Macey emerged from the shower and trudged her way over to the small cupboard on the wall by the closed, curtained window, the water dripping off of her body onto the poorly tiled floor. She prayed in her head and opened the old, creaky cupboard. Almost as if her prayers were answered, a towel was crumpled up and stuffed into the corner. She grabbed it and shook all the cobwebs out of it, letting them float to the floor. She eyed it and decided whether to use it or not. She used the sniff test and shrugged. It didn't smell moldy or full of sweat at all.

"Eh, it'll have to do." Macey dried her hair the best she could and wrapped the old towel around her torso, tucking one of the corners into her armpit to keep it from falling. She opened the door and was greeted by Ms. Winston's impatient figure standing in her way.

"It has been fifteen minutes. We are going to be late, Macey." Ms. Winston gave a look of disgust as her hand took hold of a lock of Macey's dark brown hair. "Macey! Look at your hair!" She whined. "It's awful!"

Macey huffed, clearly annoyed. "_It's wet_." She earned a glare. "It's not like I'm supposed to be model-ready."

"But you have to at least look presentable!" Ms. Winston grabbed Macey's ear and dragged her back into the bathroom. Ms. Winston rummaged through the drawers in the bathroom until she produced a comb. She ran it through Macey's hair, with many tangles and knots making it a challenge. She yanked the comb through the snarls, with much objection from Macey. Once the comb could glide easily through her locks, she retrieved the blow-dryer. She forced Macey to stand still as she dried her hair. Once her hair was completely dry, she brought a pink bow out from a different drawer.

"No! No, you are _not_ putting that in my hair." Macey complained. "I don't want to look like a Barbie doll."

"You are such a tomboy." Ms. Winston ignored her complaints and put a rubber band in her hair, making it a beautiful pinwheel bun. The parole officer tied the bow around the bun and bobby-pinned the strands of hair that had been too short to go in the bun behind her head. Ms. Winston stepped back and let Macey take in her appearance.

Macey's mouth fell open slightly. Her hair was pulled up with the ends of the bow just visible above her shoulders. Her bangs were covering her forehead completely, not letting the tiniest bit of skin show. A couple of strands were intentionally left out of the bun, shaping her face and making her look like…well, a girl. Her brown eyes took on a gleam as she finally felt pretty for once. Macey's eyes traveled down and she scowled. She was still in her towel and she could feel that she was fully dry, the towel feeling scratchy against her naked body.

"Can I get dressed now?" Macey asked, her voice on edge.

"Not until I do your makeup." Ms. Winston left the room to retrieve her beauty supplies.

Macey retreated to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, not bothering to lock it knowing that she'd just be yelled at anyway. She went to her small dresser and hunted for a pair of jeans without holes and the nicest shirt she owned –a nice pink blouse with little red flowers beaded onto it. She dressed and applied her old tennis shoes that were one jog away from completely falling apart. She pulled her travel bag out from under the bed and started shoving enough clothes for two weeks into it. She zippered it and almost screamed as she turned and was jumped by Ms. Winston, armed with a mascara applier.

Macey jumped back. "No. No makeup!"

Ms. Winston crossed her arms. "Stop acting like a baby. You're sixteen, Macey. All _normal_ sixteen-year-olds wear makeup, believe it or not."

"Yeah, well…not me." Macey glowered.

Ms. Winston glanced around the room. Manila folders and books about famous detectives and their work were cracked open and all over the floor. "This is filthy…" She crouched down and picked up one of the manila folders on the ground. She opened it and squinted at it. "What is this?"

"Nothing." Macey tried to grab it from Ms. Winston's hands.

Ms. Winston pulled it away before she could get it. "Is this a case?"

Macey blushed. "Give that to me!" She snatched it away and hugged it to her chest.

"What are _you_ doing with a case?" Ms. Winston eyed her inquisitively.

"It's something to do when I'm locked up in this Hell!" Macey blew up in her face and had to clench her fists to stop herself from striking the woman in anger. She tossed the file on the ground and kicked it under the bed.

Macey decided that she had had enough of the conversation so she tossed her backpack over her shoulder and stormed out of the room. She descended the steps, Ms. Winston on her heels, and made her way to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard and began to pack slim-jims, beef jerky, and individual bags of chips into her bag.

"What are you doing?" Ms. Winston demanded, slamming the cupboard shut and snatching her bag away.

"Packing snacks. It's a seven hour plane ride, Doris. I don't have any money to buy snacks on the plane, so I just thought-"

"No. You are not to take any snacks from this house. We have twenty mouths to feed and we are on a budget, Macey. You can take one of each…no more. And don't you call me Doris. My name is Ms. Winston to you." Ms. Winston dropped her bag and ran to get her suitcase. Macey didn't put the snacks back, preparing to lie that she did.

Ms. Winston returned with her suitcase and ushered Macey out the door, engaging the alarm as she left. The alarm prevented any of the girls from escaping, emitting a signal to the local police if the invisible lines were crossed.

"Why do you even have to come? It's not like I'm going to run." Macey slumped down into the backseat of the police cruiser as Ms. Winston started the car.

"I'm _not_ going with you." She replied, pulling out of the driveway.

Macey gave her a questioning look. "Then why the suitcase?" Macey pointed back at the expensive brown leather suitcase.

"I'm dropping you off at the airport, transferring you to another officer who will be waiting, and heading off to my sisters." Ms. Winston kept her response short. Share things with delinquents and they start to feel like you're bonding with them.

"Of course. Once I leave, you go on vacation." Macey muttered. At least she'd be away from Ms. Winston's wrath and have some time without being told what to do.

The rest of the ride was spent in aching silence. Macey had begged Ms. Winston to turn on the radio, but she was met with the familiar response.

"Music is a privilege. Music is for good little girls and you Macey are-"

"Are not a good little girl. _I got it_." Macey slumped back down and crossed her arms over her chest.

The silence rolled back in almost like a dark cloud covering the cruiser and nothing else in the world.

Macey looked out the window at the pedestrians and the passerby's who were engrossed in conversation as the cruiser rolled past. They were smiling, clearly having fun with each other and enjoying the warm, sunny weather. Macey couldn't help but feel jealous of them. They got to do everything she was forbid to do. They got to hang out with friends, play outside, drive, go anywhere in the world they wanted to, and not have to worry about your parole officer breathing down your neck.

Macey closed her eyes and it seemed just as she did, Ms. Winston was informing her that they had arrived. Macey sat up and stared at the large airport, the size making her stomach churn.

Ms. Winston pulled over to the curb and parked in a spot, showing another officer her badge as she exited the car.

The officer helped Macey with her bag and placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Macey, wait!" Ms. Winston jogged over and stopped them from walking. She dug in her pocket for something and handed it to her.

Macey turned it over in her hand and smiled. A pack of gum.

"It's a long flight. It helps with the popping in your ears." Ms. Winston smiled.

Macey was almost uncomfortable with the friendly gesture. They had always been enemies, but she could see Ms. Winston was genuine with her actions.

"Thanks, Dor- I mean, Ms. Winston." Macey watched as Ms. Winston returned to the cruiser and waved goodbye.

The officer escorted her to Gate N22 and they took a seat, waiting for the plane.

Macey stole a glance at the officer's name-plate and smirked. "Officer Harmon? Do you have a first name?"

Officer Harmon stared at one of the T.V.'s hung from the ceiling for the awaiting passengers pleasure and ignored Macey's question.

"So, _what_? You can't talk? Are you incapable of creating speech? No habla ingles?" Macey pestered him.

Officer Harmon shot her a glare and then returned to watching the T.V..

"Well, you're not deaf…you just proved that to me. But, can you talk or are you some sort of mysterious 'I'm so serious', 'I hate the world' kind of guy?"

"No. I just don't appreciate low-life criminals." He snapped, never looking at her.

Macey felt the anger boil inside her, but before she could defend herself, the woman behind the flight counter called their ticket number.

Macey felt Officer Harmon drag her to her feet and push her toward the plane. They boarded and sat in their assigned seats.

_This is going to be a _long_ flight_, she thought, annoyed.

Macey ran her hand through her hair and felt the Barbie-style bun.

_Just because we had a nice moment doesn't mean I'm going to do everything she wants._

Macey pulled the bow off and undid the pinwheel bun. She pulled the bobby pins out of her hair and threw them on the plane floor, this action earning her a stern glare from Officer Harmon. Macey shrugged and shook her hair out.

She looked out the window at the run-way and pictured herself jumping from the plane, running across the run-way, and finally being free from all this crap. But, here she was. On a seven hour flight, in route to a city she had never been to.

Macey sighed. "New York, here I come."

**_THANKS FOR READING! THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE SHERLOCK AND JOAN IN IT! I PROMISE! _**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: I do not own the characters of Elementary, but I do own Macey Ann._**

**_Enjoy! Sherlock and Joan are in this one!:)_**

Macey felt a sudden shake and was jolted from her deep sleep. She jumped up and looked out the window, half-expecting to see the plane's wing gone and the vessel plummeting to the ground. Instead, she was greeted with a stretch of runway beneath the plane's landing gear and a beautiful New York skyline. Tall buildings, their tops glared out by the sun, rested along the horizon, almost no space between them. Macey smiled. She had to admit, it was a beautiful sight.

"Welcome to New York, passengers! I hope you enjoy your stay in the big apple!" The flight attended chirped over the speaker.

Macey frowned at her fake, happy, 'just for show' tone. She hated people when they were phony. Too chipper equals too annoying.

Officer Harmon grabbed Macey's bag from the overhead compartment and seized her wrist, pulling her along with him.

"Whoa there, you two. You'll have to wait until first class gets off, _then_ business follows." She smiled warmly, motioning for them to sit back down.

Officer Harmon flashed his badge and the flight attendant nodded, stepping out of their way. He pulled her off the plane, having to show his badge an additional three times to the other attendants, and they entered the airport. They walked to the 'drop-off' point and waited for the pair that would be housing Macey for the two weeks she'd be in New York.

"Where are they, Officer Michael Harmon?" Macey smirked at the officer's confused expression.

"How did you…?" His question died in his throat as Macey waved his wallet in front of his face. He snatched it away and inspected it, counting the money and making sure the credit cards were all there.

"You underestimate me, Michael. Did you really think I'd need you to tell me your first name?" Macey snickered. "Once I want to know something, I make it a point to achieve just that. I wanted to know your first name, you wouldn't tell me. What was I _supposed_ to do?"

"Pickpocketing is a misdemeanor." He growled. He pocketed his wallet and turned that side of his body away from her, not wanting her to do it again.

"It's a _felony_, Mr. know it all." Macey crossed her arms.

Officer Harmon muttered something inaudible.

"What was that?" Macey turned towards him and fixed him with a glare, knowing he had insulted her…even if she hadn't heard him clearly.

Officer Harmon grimaced. "All you are is a low-life criminal." Before he knew it, he was on his back, watching Macey's fist poising to strike.

…

"So, where exactly are we going?" Joan asked, slightly shifting her body towards the middle-aged consulting detective beside her.

"LaGuardia." Sherlock's answer was short. He'd explain the plan to her later, this way she'd be forced to go along with it.

Joan furrowed her brow. "For what? Or am I going to have to guess?"

Sherlock shot her a tired glance.

"Right. Detectives don't guess. They deduce." Joan tapped her fingers on her lips. "LaGuardia airport…an old friend is coming to the city?"

Sherlock let out a sigh and shifted uncomfortably. "No. Well, not exactly."

"Then what exactly? You know I'm not going to leave this be until you tell me." Joan crossed her arms and stared at him, knowing he'd grow annoyed and finally give in, telling her everything about the situation.

Sherlock met her gaze. "Fine. We are going to LaGuardia airport to pick up one Macey Ann Holmes."

"Macey Ann…_Holmes_…? You have a _daughter_?" Joan was taken aback. You think you know someone after a _year_ of partnership!

"No. I do _not_ have a daughter. My brother does. I've agreed to take her in for two weeks and 'reform her attitude'." He rolled his eyes at the last part.

"_You_? Reform someone's attitude? You've got to be kidding." Joan eyed him in disbelief.

"Yes. _Me_. My brother has practically disowned Macey because of her actions in London. I'm giving this girl a chance…even if I don't want to."

"If you don't want to, why are you?" Joan was completely and thoroughly confused.

"Penance, Watson."

"Ah, yes. _Penance_." Joan rolled her eyes and prepared to exit the taxi as they slowed down to a stop in front of the large airport.

They exited the taxi and Sherlock checked his phone.

"Baggage claim…Gate N22. They should be here." Sherlock stopped beside the baggage claim machine and swept the room with his eyes.

"Sherlock? Do you even know what this girl looks like?" Joan watched him closely. He seemed like he knew what he was looking for.

Sherlock produced a picture from his wallet and handed it to her.

"Oh. So, she's younger?" Joan turned the picture over in her hands. "Really, Sherlock? This picture is from seven years ago! She's got to be at least sixteen by now." Joan handed him the picture back.

"Well, when is that photo from?" Sherlock asked as he looked at the photo.

"It says 2006 on the back. The girl in this picture is nine. The girl we're _looking_ for is sixteen. Haven't you ever _heard_ of puberty? Who _knows_ what this girl looks like now?!" Joan crossed her arms in exasperation.

"Well, think. What would this girl look like now? Higher cheekbones, longer hair –unless she cut it, dark brown eyes, light freckles, and I assume her hips and chest region have enlarged." Sherlock babbled on bluntly.

"You have no shame, do you?" Joan asked rhetorically.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by screaming.

"Get your hands off me! Help!" A man was screaming in pure terror.

Sherlock's gaze traveled to the commotion and was met with a sight.

A young girl was pinning a larger, older man to the ground by his shoulders. Her fist was raised and an evil gleam was in her eyes.

Those eyes…

Sherlock looked down at the picture and back at the girl, who was now being pulled away by security.

Joan grimaced. "Whose kid _is_ that?"

"Ours –well, for the next two weeks anyway." Sherlock spoke, running to intercept security from taking her to airport jail.

"_What_?" Joan seemed surprised…and disappointed. She jogged to keep up with him.

"I told you she was a juvenile…didn't I?" Sherlock asked, a sheepish smile on his face.

"You most certainly did not." Joan growled to herself.

Sherlock ran up to the security personnel and stood in their way. "Wait, we'll take this from here." Sherlock reached out for Macey and was met with her slapping his hand away.

"No can do, Mister. This young lady is going to be charged for assault to a citizen." One of the three cops replied.

The man on the ground got to his feet and once again, flashed his badge. "I'm a cop…and these two are the ones who I'm supposed to be delivering her to."

"Well, now its assault to a police officer." The same cop spoke and began to drag her away.

Macey kicked behind her and her foot contacted with one of the security's knee. He dropped to the ground in pain and she elbowed him in the nose. He hit the ground with a hard thud, immediately forming into the fetal position to prevent himself from further damage. Macey took the other cops arm and twisted it, fighting off the third cop with her foot. She kicked the third cop in the genital region and she fell to his knees, being kicked in the jaw as he looked up at her. Macey pushed the second cop to the ground and dodged Officer Harmon's attempt to grab her from behind. She pushed past Sherlock and sprinted towards the nearest exit. She skidded to a stop as she was blocked by ten more security officers guarding the exit.

"Macey!" Sherlock sprinted after her and tried to grab her from behind. He was shocked when she turned, her fist connecting with his jaw. He was stunned for a second, but regained his strength and alertness quickly. He grabbed her shoulder and squeezed near her neck.

Macey felt the world around her fade and she fell into Sherlock's arms.

Joan jogged up beside Sherlock and gasped. "What did you do?" She demanded, out of breath.

Sherlock lifted her into his arms and cradled her. "I got the situation under control. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

Joan stepped past the security officers guarding the door and pushed it open.

"Where do you think you're going? She just assaulted my three officers, you and Officer Harmon! She must be charged!" A man approached Sherlock and put his hands on his hips.

Sherlock looked him up and down. "Captain Gregson with the NYPD. Call him. Tell him Sherlock told you to. He'll straighten this out." Sherlock adjusted Macey into a more comfortable position and smirked. "Plus, I'd refrain from standing with your hands on your hips. It's not very threatening." Sherlock left the boiling man behind and followed Joan out the door.

"So, hopefully that wasn't a preview into how these two weeks are going to go…" Joan muttered as they were all packed into the back of the awaiting taxi.

Macey began to stir and babble. When she was fully alert, she looked at the two slightly nervous, slightly terrified faces. "Where am I?" She rubbed her shoulder at the spot Sherlock had squeezed. "Did you…did you knock me out?"

Sherlock nodded. "Well to be more precise, I used a special military tactic I learned from a contact in New York-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I didn't ask for your backstory, Holmes." Macey snapped, still rubbing the sore spot between her collar bone and her neck.

"I can see why they want you to reform her attitude. It's rotten." Joan grumbled.

"Who's this? Your wife? The _great_ Sherlock Holmes got married? Since when?" Macey looked to Sherlock, an icy stare glazing her eyes.

"No, her name is Joan Watson. You will be calling her Miss Watson while you are here, got it?" Sherlock commanded.

"Yeah, yeah. But, who is she?" Macey looked at Joan with a bored expression.

"My partner…"

"She consults with you and the NYPD. I know, Holmes. I was just giving you crap." Macey sniggered.

"How did you know?" Joan asked.

"I studied you, duh." Macey rolled her eyes. "Not the brightest, is she, Holmes?"

Sherlock immediately defended his partner. "What you just said is disrespectful and will not be tolerated. If you want to go back to your Hell-hole back in London, so be it. You will only be allowed to stay here if you are respectful towards my friends, colleagues, and Joan. Got it?" His patience was wearing quite thin at this point.

Macey glared at him with great intensity. She was not prepared for Sherlock to burst out laughing.

"I can see right through you, love. You display an exterior of being tough and incapable of experiencing fear, but I can see it. You're terrified, Macey. Terrified of this city, terrified of going back, terrified of _yourself_. You may feel like your superior to us, but let me tell you, you're going to find out real quick that this is not the case. You are the newbie here, sweetheart. And you're on thin ice. One wrong move and its back to London. Back to juvy! Your own _father_ doesn't want you, Macey."

Macey felt angry tears stream down her face. "Then _why_ am I here?"

"Because. I believe that you are worth something. You may not feel like it, but you are." Sherlock turned towards the window and stared out at the rain that had started to fall. "I'm giving you one chance to turn your life around. If I were you, I'd take the chance."

"I can't change, Holmes…" Macy wiped a tear away.

"I did." Sherlock exited the taxi and tossed the money at the cabbie. He strode up the steps, leaving Joan and Macey alone in rain.

"He believes in you. You can change, Macey. All it takes is some hard work." Joan walked up the steps, shielding herself from the rain with her hood. Joan stopped just outside the door and turned to face Macey. "You _can_ handle a little hard work, _can't_ you?"

Macey stared as Joan entered the Brownstone, leaving her soaking wet out in the rain.

Macey took a deep breath. "You don't know _what_ I can handle." She jumped up the steps and followed them inside.

**_THANKS FOR READING! _**

**_ I ABSOLUTELY LOVE WRITING THE CHARACTER OF MACEY! AHHHH I LOVE HER!_**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Prepare yourself! You'll know why soon! Enjoy everyone!**_

Macey followed Sherlock into the kitchen and looked around, bemused by the size. "So, you live in an expensive Brownstone…_how_?"

Sherlock ignored the question and opened a set of curtained doors, revealing a large room, complete with a large bed covered in sheets and blankets, a large Victorian dresser, a plasma screen T.V., and a desk with a computer set on it.

Macey's jaw dropped. "Again, _how_? You work as an _unpaid_ consultant for the NYPD and you live in one of the most expensive Brownstone's I've ever seen…" She looked at him suspiciously.

"My father pays for the Brownstone as long as I'm sober." Sherlock straightened one of the few pictures gracing the wall.

Macey nodded. "I heard about your rock-bottom situation with drugs…I'm assuming that was what Miss Watson was here for…well, until she became your 'right hand woman', am I right?" Macey censored herself. She didn't want to be sent back to London, back to the Hell-hole.

Joan nodded.

Macey dropped her bag onto the twin-sized bed and scoped the room, her gaze settling on the desktop computer. She ventured over to it and her eyes lit up, a smirk playing across her features. "_Unlimited_ internet access?"

Sherlock blocked her from the computer. "I have secured certain networks. You will not be allowed to visit certain websites for _obvious_ reasons."

Macey rolled her eyes. "You think a website blocker will stop me?"

Sherlock glared. "If you even _try _to weasel your way past it, I will personally drive you to the airport and send you off on the first flight out of here."

Macey gritted her teeth. "Fine."

"_Promise_ me." Sherlock demanded in a father-like manner.

Macey sighed in defeat. "I promise."

Joan decided to break the tension by changing the subject. "Um, as you can see, the kitchen is right outside your bedroom door…so if you're ever hungry, help yourself to anything in our kitchen."

Macey seemed stunned. "You mean I get to eat as much of _anything_ I want?"

Joan nodded with a smile. "As long as you leave _us_ something to eat."

Macey gave one of her few gracious smiles. It was a rare event whenever Macey smiled. She had been through so much that a smile was a rare sight to anyone who knew her.

A high-pitched ring echoed throughout the Brownstone, surprising everyone but Macey.

Macey bounded out of the room and ran to answer the door, Sherlock and Joan following close behind. Macey opened the door and greeted the older man on the doorstep.

"Hello there. Captain Gregson, I presume?" Macey outstretched her hand, stifling laughter at the Captain's surprised/confused expression.

He shook her hand, glancing behind her into the Brownstone. "Uh, is Sherlock Holmes here…? He texted me-"

"No, I texted you." Macey grinned, waving Sherlock's phone in the space between them. Unbeknownst to Sherlock, Macey had pickpocketed him in the taxi, taken his phone, and set the Captain a text as soon as their attention was elsewhere.

"Uh…what?" Captain Gregson pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his recent messages.

"Captain?" Sherlock walked up behind Macey and Joan pulled her into the Brownstone, pushing her out of sight.

Captain Gregson pocketed his phone. "So, I came here because I got a text telling me to…but I guess it was a prank text?"

Sherlock apologized. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm watching my niece and she can be…well, a…a…"

"Pain in the ass? Those are teenagers for you." Gregson chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. "Well, I guess since you're already here…" He motioned for the Captain to come inside.

The Captain entered and made his way to the room Sherlock had recently deemed the 'case room'. He sat on the couch and gazed up at the wall of crazy. It had grown since the last time he had seen it, new leads stretching across the length of the wall and covering the wall from floor to ceiling.

Sherlock came into the room, Joan and Macey trailing behind.

"So about the case-" The Captain started.

Sherlock cut in, "Hold that thought, Captain. Macey, room. Now."

Macey began to argue, but was silenced by Joan reminding her about what was on the line. She stormed out of the room, grumbling to herself about it not being fair.

The Captain waited until the teen had left and looked at Sherlock. He looked mentally worn out. "Don't worry, Holmes. She's just going through that 'independent' phase all teens go through. Macey just needs some time alone to figure herself out."

"What she _needs_ is discipline." Sherlock huffed.

Gregson crossed his arms. "Have _you_ ever been a father? 'Cause I have. I've been through this _twice_ already and I'm going to be going through it again in about three years when Chelsea turns thirteen. I consider myself a _pro_ at teenage behavior. And if you feel the need to discipline her, do it gently."

Sherlock reluctantly nodded. He never wanted to agree with someone about anyone being better than him at something, but this was necessary…and he was exhausted.

"I'd send her to school, if I were you. It may be refreshing for her to make some friends and get out once in a while, instead of being stuck here in her room." Captain Gregson suggested.

"Oh, I had planned for her to attend school. I just am a little apprehensive because she seems like the type to run." Sherlock explained, taking a seat on the couch.

"I know the principal at Xavier High School…I could get her into a few classes and have her assigned to an accompanying teacher. They also have security at all the entrances and exits, so it is near impossible to escape. She'll be able to meet new people, learn a few things, and adapt to a friendly environment." Captain Gregson pulled out his phone, preparing to make the call to the principal.

"Thanks, Captain. That is very sweet of you." Joan smiled. She watched as he flashed her a smile before excusing himself into the hallway.

Sherlock groaned. "I don't think an accompanying teacher or security could prevent her from escaping…"

"This is a huge city that she has never been to. Do you really think she'd run away? Where would she even go?" Joan pointed out.

"Don't underestimate her. She is smart…not smarter than me, but smart nonetheless." Sherlock retorted.

Captain Gregson came into the room and pocketed his phone once more. "It's set. She'll be able to attend tomorrow. She'll get the tour, pick out some classes, and meet some teachers and peers. She'll need a notebook, some pencils or pens, and a backpack. They've set her up with the free lunch program, so there is no need to pack one. She doesn't have any allergies does she?"

Joan shrugged and looked to Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since she was three, except in pictures. How would I know if she has allergies?"

Captain Gregson rolled his eyes. "This is what I'm talking about. Another reason she may resent you is because you have had no previous contact with her. She doesn't trust you yet. I may have said to let her have some 'independent' time, but that doesn't mean you have to leave her be and exclude her. Get to know her, Sherlock. Talk to her. Find out unique things about her. You'll create a bond. And who knows? Maybe you'll find things in common with her."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms in defense. "I have nothing in common with her."

The Captain made his way over to Sherlock and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, you may not see it yet, but I can see many things you have in common with this girl. She reminds me of you."

Sherlock scoffed. "Like I have stated previously, I do_ not_ have anything in common with Macey!"

Captain Gregson chuckled. "Okay, Holmes. Whatever you say." He made his way to the front door and began to exit, adding something that nobody would hear.

"But, from what I've seen, Macey is just like you."

…

"School?! I don't think so, Holmes." Macey dropped her fork onto her plate and stared in disbelief at the pair sitting across from her.

"We think it would give you the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends." Joan smiled, hoping Macey would agree and calm down.

"So you think making me the new kid with a teacher escort will help me make friends? Do you know _anything_ about high school?" Macey argued. "I'll be eaten alive!"

"You're a tough girl, Macey, you can handle it." Sherlock stuffed a forkful of chicken pot pie into his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm tough…with my fists…" Macey mumbled under her breath.

"You will not fight, run away, or behave in a negative way that would, in turn, bring negativity towards the school, NYPD, or us. Got it?" Sherlock laid all the rules out on the table.

"Yes, _dad_." Macey grumbled sarcastically. "I mean, _come on_! I'm only here for two weeks. Who the Hell goes to school for two weeks?" Macey argued.

"Two weeks or two days, I don't care. You are still going." Sherlock ended the argument.

Macey's shoulders slumped and she picked her fork up. She picked at her food and played with it, pushing it from one end of the plate to the other.

"Aren't you hungry?" Joan asked, watching her play with the food in front of her. "You haven't taken a single bite…it's going to get cold."

Macey shrugged and slumped down in the chair.

"Sit up straight." Sherlock demanded.

Macey obliged reluctantly. She placed her elbows on the table and continued to twirl her fork around in the gravy.

"Elbows off the table." Sherlock added, still speaking in a demanding tone.

Macey did as she was told. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at the table.

Joan tried to continue conversing with Macey, hoping Macey would shed the tiniest sliver of light on her life. "So, how long have you lived in London?"

Macey began to answer, but was cut off by Sherlock.

"Macey, eat. You will not be able to get any more food until tomorrow morning, so I'd be smart and eat what is given to you." Sherlock pointed at her plate.

"But you said I could help myself to whatever I want in the kitchen…" Macey looked up at him, confused.

"Those privileges will be revoked if you don't eat."

"Privileges? I thought it was just a kind gesture…" Macey's clasped hands tightened, her memory flashing back to Ms. Winston's statements. 'That is a privilege. Only good little girls get that.'

"Macey?" Joan asked, her tone soft.

Sherlock spoke over Joan. "Macey. What did I just say? Eat or have your privilege revoked!"

Macey stood, suddenly. She chucked the fork to the side, it colliding with the wall and skidding across the floor and out into the hallway. "Enough!" Macey made a bee-line for her room, trying her hardest to reign in her anger.

Sherlock stood. "Sit back down and pick up your fork! You did not excuse yourself!"

Macey spun around to face him, her blood boiling.

Joan stood up carefully. She searched for the fork and retrieved it, placing it on the table. She went to Macey's side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sit back down! You are not excused yet!" Sherlock continued to demand.

"Why are you yelling at me?!" Macey felt angry tears stream down her face.

"Because you deserve it!" Sherlock strode towards her.

"What did I do to deserve this? I'm sorry I threw the fork! Is that what you want to hear? That I'm sorry?" Macey sobbed.

"No. Sit back down now!" Sherlock screamed.

"Sherlock…" Joan tried to stop his rampage.

He ignored her. "Macey, do as you're told!"

"No." Macey put her foot down. "I don't have to."

"Do you want to go back to London and rot in that shabby old prison of a house?!" Sherlock threatened.

"Yes! Send me back! At least they never _scream_ at me! They never get on my case and they never ever would treat me like this! You're my uncle, Sherlock! Why would you do this to your own _niece_?!"

"Because my _niece_ is a low-life criminal!" Sherlock covered his mouth and the anger disappeared. What had he done? "Macey…Oh my –I'm sorry…I didn't…"

Macey clenched her fists and shrugged Joan's hand off her shoulder. She ran to the stairs and sprinted up them, tears streaming down her face, leaving a path of sadness.

Sherlock and Joan watched her run away. Once she was out of sight, Joan turned to Sherlock.

"Joan…I'm sorry." Sherlock apologized.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. You're lucky if she doesn't run away after what you just did, Sherlock."

Sherlock tried to apologize again, but Joan cut him off.

"You know, when Gregson told you to _discipline_ her, I don't think he meant _scream_ at her." Joan glared and ran to catch up with Macey.

Sherlock slumped down into a chair. "What have I done?"

_**See? It's sad. I promise it'll get better...or maybe it won't. I don't know. We'll see, cause I haven't even thought about what the next chapter will be. Well, we'll see soon, won't we? :)**_

_**I hope you enjoyed. **_

_**Please Favorite! This way you can add this to your fav's and your followers can see it's a good story, trusting your judgment.**_

_**Please Follow! This way, since everyone is updating a lot these days, you can stay up to date with the chapters and know when the next one is out!**_

_**Please Review! This makes me squeal with joy because I know people like my story and that they actually are reading. If you have any suggestions about this story, feel free to tell me in a review! Thanks everyone who reviews! Also, if you've ever read one of my stories before, you know you will be thanked and mentioned at the end of my story! I will thank you personally! :D**_

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_**Thanks!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Joan opened the door to the roof softly, careful not to make any noise and startle Macey. She peered out at the shadowy rooftop, the sun falling beneath the horizon, creating a beautiful sunset. A figure, darkened by the sunset, sat on the edge of the roof, legs swung over the edge.

"Macey?" Joan spoke through the silence of the rooftop, the New York City hustle bustle noise only a quiet hum at the height of the Brownstone.

Macey wiped her tears away quickly, not wanting anyone to see her crying out of sadness.

Joan took a seat by her, carefully positioning her legs over the edge in a way that she felt safe enough that she was sure she wouldn't plummet to her death. "Are you okay?"

Macey nodded, regaining her composure. "Yeah. I'm used to being called a criminal…" Her voice cracked, alerting Joan to more oncoming tears.

Joan placed her hand on Macey's back and waited for her reaction.

Macey leaned into Joan and laid her head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for the way I act…it's just the way I deal with people."

"You keep people at a distance so they don't get hurt…and so you don't either. I know." Joan rubbed her back and gazed out at the sunset.

Macey let out a soft laugh. "You're an expert, aren't you?"

"Well, I've dealt with it for the past year." Joan smiled at the memories and at how far her relationship with Sherlock had gotten.

Macey looked at her. "You have kids?"

Joan laughed. "Oh, no. I was actually referring of my time with Sherlock."

Macey looked disappointed. "Oh."

"You know, if I ever _did_ have kids, I'd want them to be just like you, Macey." Joan changed the subject slightly. She had forgotten about the fight with Sherlock already.

"You mean an ex-criminal with a bad attitude?" Macey half-joked.

"Well, maybe not _that_…but, I'd like my future daughter to have your ability to know when you've crossed a line, reign in your anger, and try to stay out of trouble…even if you've had a little trouble along the way." Joan wiped a stray tear from Macey's face and gazed into her eyes. "I want my future daughter to have your aspiration to do good and be good. I want you to know that even though you've done some bad things –I don't know what they are, but it doesn't matter- that it is never too late to change."

"All it takes is some hard work." Macey repeated Joan's words from earlier that day.

"Exactly." Joan smiled and hugged Macey.

"Thank you, Miss Watson." Macey spoke into Joan's ear, tears of happiness dripping onto Joan's shirt.

Joan released and they looked into each other's eyes. "Call me Joan."

…

Macey stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks. So far she had counted seventy-five in the time she had been up, waiting for the alarm clock to sound. She hadn't been tired when she had retired to her bedroom, seeing as it was the middle of the day in London, so she had been up the whole night counting cracks. As the night wore on though, she had begun to feel the effects of jet-lag, her eyelids getting heavier and the attempts to keep them open becoming harder and harder. When she finally did close her eyes and drift off, her alarm clock beeped and buzzed meaning one thing. School.

Macey hit the snooze button, hoping Joan would allow her to get a few minutes of sleep before she would have to endeavor the frightening adventure of going to a new school.

Joan stood outside Macey's bedroom door, waiting for any sort of movement. When she didn't hear anything, she assumed Macey had hit the snooze button. Joan allowed it, knowing this gesture would earn her some major brownie points and strengthen the bond they had created due to last night's events.

Joan opened one of the cupboards and began to make three bowls of cereal. She went to the fridge and rummaged around, looking for non-expired milk. When she closed the door, she almost screamed when Sherlock was standing there.

Joan looked behind him at Macey's closed door and sighed. "I think you should make yourself scarce. We don't want a replay of last night." Joan whispered.

Sherlock ducked his head. "I wanted to tell her that I'm sorry…" He whispered back.

Joan nodded. "Okay, but not now. Not before her first day of school." Joan poured him a bowl of cereal and handed it to him.

Sherlock nodded and took his bowl, returning to his room immediately.

Joan felt pity for him. She knew that his temper was still a little uncontrollable; he had proved that last night. She knew he didn't mean it at all, his efforts to apologize showed just that.

Macey's alarm sounded again, this time being turned off instead of hitting snooze again.

Joan placed the two bowls of cereal on the dining table and took her seat, soon hearing rustling behind Macey's door.

The doors opened, Macey appearing between them. She peeked out, tiredly. "No Sherlock?"

"No. He is eating breakfast in bed today." Joan smiled, motioning her towards the cereal.

Macey sat and began to eat.

"So, did you sleep well?" Joan asked, taking a bite of her cereal.

"I slept for ten minutes." Macey mumbled through a mouthful of cereal.

Joan blinked. "Ten minutes? Was the mattress too lumpy?"

Macey shook her head. "No…I think it's just the jet-lag."

Joan nodded. "Oh. I'm sorry. At least your first day is an easy one. You'll be dropped off by Captain Gregson and the principal will be escorting you to his office. He'll help you pick out a few classes and introduce you to the teacher that will be accompanying you to your classes. He'll also name a few students that are especially friendly, so you won't be alone. Lunch is at noon, so I'd eat your fill."

Macey nodded, her appetite disappearing. She knew that she shouldn't be nervous, but knowing that she'd be singled out by everyone as the new kid made her stomach twist and churn. She choked down another mouthful and pushed it away.

"I'm going to take a shower…is that alright?" Macey stood.

"Of course. The bathroom is out that door and down the hallway. Last door on your left." Joan pointed.

Macey nodded. "Thanks. I'll be out in ten minutes."

"Take your time. School starts at eight."

Macey noted the time. Six-thirty. "I don't want to leave you with cold water…"

"Don't worry. I don't take a shower until after my morning jog; it'll be warmer by then." Joan suddenly realized Macey's concern. "Are you only allowed ten minutes in London?"

Macey nodded. "Ms. Winston tells us that ten minutes is too much. She tells us it is the max limit, seeing as there are twenty girls in the home."

Joan nodded, knowing she shouldn't push anymore. She wouldn't want to break the bond she had started.

Macey took her leave, ready to enjoy a warm wash before the nerve-racking day.

…

"You'll be fine, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll fit right in." Captain Gregson spoke, turning into the schools parking lot.

Macey nodded, feeling too sick to speak.

"Have a nice day. I'll pick you up at three in this spot. Okay?"

Macey nodded again. She swallowed and jumped out onto the sidewalk, immediately being greeted by a brown-haired man seeming to be in his mid-forties.

Captain Gregson waved and drove off, leaving Macey to fend for herself.

"Hello there, young lady. What is your name?" He spoke in a cheery voice.

Macey bit the inside of her mouth, keeping all the snarky comments inside. "Macey Ann Holmes."

"That is a very pretty name, honey. My name is Principal Mario Polez, but you can call me Mr. Polez or Principal Polez." He grabbed her hand and began to lead her into the building.

Macey immediately felt uncomfortable. She slipped her hand out from his and stepped away. "Sorry…I kinda don't like to be touched…"

He nodded and put his hand on her back, leading her into his office.

Macey rolled her eyes. _'What did I _just_ say?' _Macey thought in annoyance.

She took a seat in the chair across from his, his desk separating them.

He folded his hands on the desk and gave a warm smile, looking her over.

Macey shifted uncomfortably, wishing she had worn something less revealing. She was dressed in a black dress, the hem coming just above her knees. The sweetheart neckline accentuating her smaller breasts and the straps making her shoulders narrower.

Macey cleared her throat. "So, what classes are offered here?"

"Oh, yes!" He reached under his desk and produced a large booklet. He scooted it closer to her and let her look it over.

Her eyes scanned over the page until she came across an interesting class. 'Crime investigation 101'.

"What's this?" She asked, pointing at the title.

He leaned over and let out a laugh. "Oh, that's our class that is offered to boys who want to be cops."

"What about girls? Or do you not think girls can be cops?" Macy accused, her glare becoming intense.

Mr. Polez backed up. "Oh, I didn't mean… It can be taken by girls, but you'd be the only girl…"

"I don't see a problem with that. I am very independent." Macey smirked.

Mr. Polez nodded quickly, trying not to anger her again. "Okay…I'll sign you up. Your teacher with be Mr. Matherson in room 0822. You'll need five other classes for yourself to be considered a student at Xavier High."

Macey scowled. She didn't want to be a student at Xavier High; she didn't _want _to be a student at all.

She picked the booklet up again and scanned it, looking for any more classes relating to crime justice or detective work. After much scanning and contemplation, she picked out 'Debate/Speech', Computer sciences, Chemistry, DNA analysis and genetics, and just for fun, choir.

"Great! Now that we have you in some classes, it's time to introduce you to the teacher that will be accompanying you everywhere." He stood and opened his office door. "She's new here, but has grasped the layout of the school brilliantly! Let me introduce you to Miss Adler."

Miss Adler stepped into the room and held out a slender, perfectly manicured hand. "Hello, darling. It's very nice to meet you."

Macey glanced down at her hand and shook her head. "As I've already told this bozo here, I don't like to be touched."

The principal gasped. "Name calling is not tolerated!"

Macey groaned. She had tried, she really had, but being 'nice' wasn't easy for her. "Sorry." She muttered.

Miss Adler motioned for Macey to exit before her and they made their way into the hallway. The hallway was eerily empty and the narrow heels of Miss Adler's boots echoed loudly.

"So, _who_ are you?" Macey asked, her voice drowning out the annoying clicking of heels against linoleum.

"Miss Adler, your accompanying teacher. I will be escorting you to each class and attending them as well. I look forward to learning many new things with you." She smiled, earning an annoyed look from Macey.

"Don't force a smile. It's just sad." Macey smirked.

"What do you mean?"

"You are trying _way _too hard to be nice." Macey explained. "And anyways, I didn't mean who are you during school hours, I meant who you are. Like, who are you out of school? Do you have another job? Tell me about _Miss Adler_."

Miss Adler seemed surprised. "Oh, you want to know about me. Well, where do I start?" She thought up a story. "My name is Irene…I grew up in New York-"

"Lie."

"What?" Irene stared at her blankly.

"You didn't grow up in New York. I can tell by the way you hide your accent."

"If I'm not from New York, where do you think I'm from then?" Irene glared straight ahead, nerves on edge. How much could this young girl deduce about her?

"I'm guessing somewhere in the UK."

"You'll have to be more specific, love." Irene slipped up, her accent peeking through.

"I'm guessing…somewhere around Thames." Macey smiled as she observed Irene becoming more and more nervous. She didn't know it, but by giving Macey these signals, she was becoming more transparent with everything Macey guessed. When Irene relaxed, Macey had guessed wrong. When Irene tensed, she guessed right. "When you spoke the first time, your consonants were weak. In the Estuary English accent you are trying to conceal, the consonants are not as important. Sometimes people with the accent drop the consonants all together. And the fact that you just called me 'love' backs me up all the more."

Irene grunted. "You're smart."

Macey grinned. "You don't have to tell me that. I'm smarter than everyone I meet."

The pair stopped in front of their first class. A large choir room with about twenty five girls socializing inside.

"Choir… You couldn't have picked something more interesting?" Irene spoke, dropping the American accent cover-up all together.

Macey scoffed. "If you don't like it, leave. I won't run." She winked and entered the room.

Irene followed and stood by the door. "The class is half over. You still have thirty minutes to meet new people and meet the teacher."

Macey nodded and left Miss Adler behind.

All the girls paused and quieted down as Macey stepped into their line of sight. They watched as she took a seat on the risers, leaning back and making herself comfortable.

Macey scanned their faces and scowled. "What are you looking at? Go back to gabbing and gossiping."

They began to whisper and snicker, gossiping and beginning cruel rumors about the new girl.

"Who are you?" A girl, about 5'10, spoke pushing through the large group of girls. She was wearing a pink polo shirt, a black skirt that barely covered her butt, and a pair of tennis-shoe heels. Her blonde hair and blue eyes plus her extremely revealing outfit confirming that she was one of the girls deemed 'popular'. Or in Macey's vocabulary, 'slut'.

"My name is Macey and I'm guessing you're the leader of the class."

"Lucky guess. I'm Raine. Daughter of the principal." She flipped her hair and jutted her hip out, her hand resting there in a pose that was meant to be sassy.

"Ah, I see. And if I don't listen to you and agree to sign my soul over to you, you'll get me in trouble." Macey grimaced.

"That's right."

Macey stood and walked over to her. "I'm guessing this attitude comes from the fact that you are all pain. You're lonely and jealous because your father doesn't want anything to do with you. He's too busy being a pedophile and looking at other little girls."

Raine gasped and backed away. "My _dad_ is _not_ a _pedophile_!"

Macey shrugged. "You're seeing it differently. You see your dad 'bonding' with your friends you bring home and you feel a fire within. The way you think of it, they're stealing your dad and that your dad likes them more than you. Part of that is true, though. He _does_ like them better."

Raine started bawling and collapsed to the floor.

"Why do you have to be such a bitch?" A girl snapped at Macey, kneeling beside Raine and comforting her.

Macey looked at all the other girls, their eyes all fixed on her in a deathly glare.

Macey laughed nervously. "So…who wants to be my friend?"

**_THANKS FOR READING!_**

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	5. Chapter 5

"Quiet down now, ladies! It's singing time!" A plump woman in an outfit not fit for her body sang, taking a seat behind her piano and motioning for the girls to take their seats on the risers. "Your study-hall is over; it's time to sing now!"

All the girls began to move in one large clump towards the risers, avoiding touching Macey as if she were radioactive.

Soon, all the girls were sitting on the risers, taking up every inch of the gray, carpeted structure.

Macey looked for any spots that were open and began to feel out of her element. She didn't know anyone and they all hated her.

_This is going to be fun_, she thought sarcastically to herself.

"Hey. Over here." A red-haired girl with glasses waved Macey over.

Macey made her way over cautiously, in case this was a cruel joke.

"Come on. I don't bite." The red-head waved her over more urgently, almost if she sensed Macey's suspicion.

Macey took a seat by the girl and was shocked when the red-haired girl grabbed Macey's hand and shook it.

"The names Iris."

Macey nodded. "Nice to meet you…"

Iris grinned. "I really liked what you did to Raine. _Somebody_ had to bring her down a peg and you did it. Bravely, I might add."

Macey snickered. "She deserved it. You don't mess with me."

Iris smirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

The teacher glared at the pair talking and shushed them. "My turn to talk. You zip it."

Macey and Iris nodded, quickly giving each other annoyed looks when her attention was elsewhere.

The woman cleared her throat and began to outline the class periods tasks. "Alright, ladies. First on our to-do list is…" She looked down at her notes and then back at the girls, "to introduce you to our new student. Macey, please stand up."

Macey glanced at her classmates' glares and shook her head. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows who I am…"

"Nonsense. Stand up." The woman demanded.

Macey sighed. She waved shyly at the girls surrounding her. "Hi…my names Macey. That's M-A-C-E-Y, so you know how to spell it on your hit list." She muttered.

The teacher gasped. "Macey! We do not use that word!"

"What word? Hit? Or list?" Macey cocked her head to the side, eyes flickering down to Iris who was stifling laughter.

"Hit list. We do not use that word!" The teacher scolded.

"Well, actually, hit list is two words…just saying, Miss…" Macey trailed off, waiting to learn her name.

"Mrs., actually. Mrs. Wayland." Mrs. Wayland put her hands on her hips.

Macey took in Mrs. Wayland's appearance. How could this woman have a husband? "How…I mean, oops. Sorry."

Mrs. Wayland sighed. "I'll let it go since it's your first day. Now, tell the class your past experience with music."

Macey thought up a lie, but decided against it. She might as well be honest. "I really don't have any…Does singing in the shower count?"

"No." Mrs. Wayland crossed her arms. "How did you even get into this class with no experience?"

Macey shrugged. "The principal told me to choose classes. I chose this class…that's it."

Mrs. Wayland pulled the piano bench out and cracked her knuckles. "Well, then you'll have to sing for me. I need to know whether you are a first soprano, second soprano, high alto, or low alto."

Macey gulped. "In front of everyone?"

Mrs. Wayland gave her a tired glance. "Just stand center stage and begin to sing Happy Birthday."

Macey shrugged and made her way over to the piano. "Actually, if I'm going to sing for everyone, I prefer to do it from the safety of the piano."

Mrs. Wayland's eyebrow shot up and she stood up from the bench. "You play?"

"Would I offer to play for myself if I didn't?" Macey took a seat and pulled the bench inward towards the piano. Macey stretched her arms and fingers and took a deep breath, taking a quick sideways glance at the girls on the risers.

They were all staring at her intently, glares like daggers…pointed directly at Macey.

Macey closed her eyes and lowered her fingers to the keys. Her fingers began to dance across the keys, plunking softly, but artistically. A melody began to fill the room, filling it with melancholy tones and feelings.

Macey began to get to the point in the music where the singing started and she opened her eyes, ready for the experience.

She began to sing.

_You shout it out,_

_ But I can't hear a word you say_

_ I'm talking loud not saying much_

_ I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet_

_ You shoot me down, but I get up_

_I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose_

_ Fire away, fire away_

_Ricochet, you take your aim_

_ Fire away, fire away_

_ You shoot me down but I won't fall_

_ I am titanium_

_ You shoot me down but I won't fall_

_ I am titanium…._

Macey stopped playing, silence filling the room, and turned towards the risers. She was met with surprised faces and an even more surprised teacher.

The silence was interrupted with a thunderous applause.

"You've got to be lying when you say you don't have experience! Young lady, that was amazing!" Mrs. Wayland cheered. She smiled and then patted Macey on the back lightly. "Next time, lead with your talent, not your attitude."

Macey gave a sheepish smile and returned to the risers, taking her seat besides Iris.

"Wow, you're good. Will you teach me?" Iris grinned.

"Of course." Macey laughed. "But, one rule. Don't surpass the master!"

The new friends burst out laughing and completely ignored the teacher, now moving onto the next task. They were too busy getting to know each other.

…

Irene followed Macey out into the hallway and began to guide her to the next class. Crime Investigation 101.

"So, you made a good first impression." Irene smiled. "You're skilled. But I'm sure you know that already."

Macey nodded. "So, do you have talents?"

"I do." Irene waited for Macey's deductions.

Macey noted the paint under Irene's fingernails and the slightly color-tainted skin on Irene's fingertips. "Artist?"

"What kind?" Irene challenged her, seeing just how smart Macey actually was.

Macey hummed and began to make deductions in her mind. "I'm going to guess…"

"If you want to be a detective, you can't guess. Good detectives don't guess, they observe…or deduce as my old friend would say." Irene smirked.

"How did you know I wanted to be a detective…?" Macey gave her a suspicious look.

"You're not the only one who's smart with observations. People are like games…and I'm the master." Irene grimaced, remembering her 'game' with Sherlock.

Macey stopped in her tracks. "That was very villain-like…I like it." She smirked. "You now have my respect, Miss Adler." She began to walk and for once, was fine with the silence that came over them.

"You never guessed what kind of artist, Macey." Irene spoke up.

"Restorer. You restore old paintings so they'll be around and in tip-top shape for years to come." Macey answered in a heartbeat. She had been putting the pieces together when Irene had been deducing her own interest in detective work.

This time it was Irene's turn to stop in her tracks. "I've underestimated you…Maybe you _are_ smarter than me."

Macey snorted. "I could've told you that."

Irene stopped at a class and pulled Macey inside. "Crime Investigation 101. _Really_? You couldn't have picked something like Art History?"

Macey giggled. "Oh, well." She took her seat at the front and grabbed a notebook with a pencil from her satchel.

Mr. Matherson greeted her and welcomed her to the class. "Everyone, this is Macey Ann Holmes."

"You can call me Macey." She added. She had never really liked the addition of Ann to her first name.

All the boys in the class –which was everyone, seeing as only boys were present- drooled over her.

Macey blushed and turned towards the front.

Mr. Matherson began to talk about how to observe and inspect a crime-scene. "First, you check the scene for any anomalies, such as: the assailant, weapon, any dangers, etc. If you have no back-up, call it in and get everyone there. Begin to assess the scene. As an example, is there anyone who wants to try it with a practice scene?"

Macey looked around the room and noted the bored looks from some, some still gazing at her, and some who were sleeping, about to fall out of their seats. Her hand shot up, startling everyone in the room.

"Okay, Macey. You may try…but it may be a little difficult seeing as you're coming in mid-course."

Macey groaned. "What is with people thinking I can't do it?"

Mr. Matherson gave an apologetic smile and handed her a manila folder, complete with documents about the fictional criminal, blurred photos, and other various evidence pieces.

Macey began to read and make connections immediately.

Mr. Matherson turned his attention back to the class. "We'll continue talking as Macey looks it over."

"Solved it. It was the sitter." Macey set it down and gave a smug grin.

"What?" Mr. Matherson was speechless. "How did you…?"

"This case was actually really easy. The sitter is a teenager, a horny male who was probably stuck at the house with the bratty children when he could've been out on the town…getting lucky, shall we say. He took the kids out in the car, taking out the children's CD that was in the player and replacing it with his metal…_crap_. He must've met up with a girl and when she wanted to go back to his place, he agreed. My guess is, he brought her to the car and she freaked, saying he was irresponsible with the children, this in turn, making him angry. She probably turned him down, disgusted by how he would bring children into this. He then strangled her, all because he wanted to get laid. He raped her, mutilated her dead body, and tossed the used condom –he wore it thinking it would keep his DNA out of her- into the back of the car in pure carelessness. He drove the car to the kids' home and cleaned up after the kids –forgetting the condom. He parked it and brought them inside, ready to say he hadn't left. Little did he know, some source had seen the van leaving the scene. Nobody believed it because the van was registered to a judge and late wife –dead two years to that day. He had needed a sitter for the anniversary of her death, planning ot attend a dinner with his dead wife's family. Nobody would've suspected it was the sitter because he had sworn he hadn't left, claiming there was no evidence that suggested this. But, the witness' account plus all the evidence in the van added up to one conclusion. The victim was killed by the sitter. Walla!"

Mr. Matherson was completely shocked. "And you got all that from a CD and a condom?"

Macey nodded. "Am I correct?"

"It's like you've already heard of this case…but that's impossible. I made this up."

"That explains why it was so easy. Sorry, but this class is _really_ easy. I've solved harder cases than this." Macey spoke the honest truth.

Irene snickered from the doorway. She had been thinking the same thing.

"Let's be honest, Mr. Matherson. You don't know anything about 'Crime Investigation'. My guess is you're just teaching this class because it's the closest thing to what is on your diploma. Chemistry major? _I_ think so. Seeing as there are Chemistry tools everywhere and they're very well taken care of, it shows you are passionate about the subject. The only reasons you're teaching this class is because they already have enough Chemistry teachers in the school and you're desperate for money."

Mr. Matherson sighed. "You should be teaching this class, not me."

Macey laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment, but no thanks. You're the educated teacher here, you teach." She smiled and he began to teach again –this time the subject being more of a science-y, chemistry based topic.

Irene stared at Macey and tried to deduce everything she was about. The girl was smart, almost too smart for her own good. Her intelligence greatly surpassed all Moriarty's contacts, which could be very helpful. Irene had been looking for an apprentice for some time now and Macey would be a perfect fit. Macey would be an extremely vital tool…but there was just one problem. Something that would hold her back from agreeing to Irene's proposal.

She was a Holmes.

**_THANKS FOR READING! I GOT THE CASE FROM 'SOLVE: Five Minute Mysteries' AND THE SONG IS TITANIUM BY MADILYN BAILEY. SEARCH IT ON YOUTUBE IF YOU WANT TO HEAR IT…IT IS NOTHING LIKE DAVID GUETTA'S VERSION. YES, I AM MAKING MACEY AND IRENE ALIKE…SOMEWHAT. IM DOING THIS BECAUSE MACEY IS LIKE IRENE, IRENE IS LIKE SHERLOCK AND SHERLOCK IS LIKE MACEY. IT'S A COMPLETE LOOP. _**

**_PLEASE FAVORITE/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**

**_THANKS!_**


	6. Chapter 6

Macey trudged up the Brownstone steps tiredly, Gregson still parked at the curb after he dropped her off in order to make sure she made it inside safely. She opened the door, waved Gregson off, and took a deep breath. She could nearly feel the anticipation in the air; she knew Joan would be bombarding her with questions regarding her first day, too bad she'd have to explain that she'd made some enemies –some still mad at her for what she did to Raine-, how she had called out a teacher on how bad he was on the subject of crime investigation, made herself a prime target for jealous girls to beat down, and insulted the principal. What a _great_ day.

Joan appeared at the top of the steps with her hand out to the side, clearly telling Sherlock to stay out of view to spare her feelings. "_So_? How'd it go?"

"It was _great_…" Macey faked a smile and sulked into the kitchen.

Joan's smile dissipated and she descended the steps, finding Macey rummaging through the nearly empty fridge. "Okay, how _bad_ was it?"

Macey didn't even glance back at her. "Long version or short version?"

"Long." Joan took a seat in one of the four chairs as Macey grabbed an apple out of the fridge, kicking it shut as she turned to sit in another kitchen chair.

"Well, to start off…I called the principal a bozo." Macey peeled her apple with a stray knife on the table and bit into the juicy fruit.

Joan's lips pressed into a hard line. "Why?"

Macey just snickered, remembering how affected the man had been at the comment. Macy stopped laughing as she took in Joan's disapproving gaze. She cleared her throat and continued to outline her day. "Then I went to choir…"

Joan's face lit up. "Really? How'd that go?"

"Well it went really well…I made a new friend…and even more enemies…"

Joan groaned. "Macey. How could you possibly make enemies on the first day?"

"Well, hey! At least I made _a_ friend." Macey pointed out, Joan's disapproving gaze intensifying. "I just pointed out to the principal's daughter that her father is a closeted pedophile and I'm suddenly the most hated girl in class, even after I showed how talented I was."

Joan sighed. "You are _just_ like Sherlock. He can't keep his mouth shut either."

Macey's eyes shot up and looked into hers. "Am I seriously like him?"

"Well, yes…and no. You both have very different attributes regarding your personalities, but your attitudes are exactly the same." Joan cut herself off, afraid that she had insulted the young girl.

Macey sighed. "I guess you're right. I cannot shut up, can I?"

Joan's mouth almost dropped open in surprise at the comment, but she held it shut for the sake of keeping Macey content. Joan decided that it would be better if she moved to the next subject. "So, you made a friend…that's good. And you showed your talents?"

"Yes, her name is Iris and she is pretty much the only one who wanted to speak to me…other than the guys in my other class drooling over me. And yes, I played the piano and sang for the choir class. Then I solved an 'expert' mystery in my crime investigation class. According to my teacher, I should be teaching the class instead of him."

Joan smiled at Macey's smug grin. "So, it sounds like today was…_fun_…Are you excited for tomorrow?"

Macey's grin dropped. "Oh, _Hell_ no."

…

Irene stared at the CCTV screens in front of her eyes, having planted the small cameras everywhere around the Brownstone when it was vacant.

She scowled to herself. Had she really made such a fleeting impression on the young girl? She supposed it was for the best that Macey hadn't mentioned her. Wouldn't want Sherlock or his little mascot to interrupt _another _meticulously calculated master-plan.

Since Irene had gotten back to her house –a considerable distance from the Brownstone, making it unlikely to run into Holmes or his little pet, Joan Watson- Irene had been conjuring up different scenarios in which she could impose her apprentice proposal to Macey. Irene knew it was risky –Macey being Sherlock's niece and all- but it was just too great an opportunity to pass up.

She had decided to wait till the end of the week, letting her bond with the young Holmes become even greater –possibly becoming friends with the girl.

Irene watched as Sherlock entered the room with Macey, tension clear even through the computer screen. She leaned in closer and tuned her ears to catch the full conversation between the two.

_"Macey, may I speak to you?" Holmes sat on the couch opposite to Macey. _

_Macey sighed._ _"I don't know. Are you going to speak to me or _yell _at me?"_

_Sherlock wiped his sweaty hands against his pants. "Macey, about that…I didn't mean to be so demanding…I was told to take charge, but I guess…well, I guess it just went to my head and I went way over-board."_

_Macey rolled her eyes. "Oh, really. I did _not_ realize that."_

_This time it was Sherlock's turn to sigh. "I apologize."_

_Macey blinked. "And?"_

_"It'll never happen again?" Sherlock wasn't sure what she wanted him to say._

_"You don't seem very convincing." Macey crossed her arms._

_"I'm sorry for all I've done. I crossed a line and I would've apologized earlier, but I just couldn't ruin your first day."_

_"Yeah, but I'm sure it couldn't have gotten worse anyway…but thanks, Sherlock." Macey smiled and stood up from her spot on the couch. "I know it's hard for you to admit when you've done wrong and it's even harder for you to show feelings, but I appreciate your apology. I'm not fully over it, but this was a good start."_

_Sherlock smiled, he was just happy she wasn't making this overly hard for him…or turning this whole moment into a joke. He decided to finally tell her what he really thought about her. "No matter what people say about you Macey, it's all wrong. From what I've seen, you're going to be a great person, even if you have made a few mistakes along the way. But, hey. We're all human. Humans make mistakes. It's impossible to be perfect. So, don't listen to them when they say you're a low-life criminal, just know that you're a better person than most people in this world. And from what I've heard from Miss Watson, you're a damn good investigator too."_

_Macey smiled. "Maybe I can show you my skills someday."_

_Sherlock smiled back. "I'd love that. And who knows? Maybe you can come back after your parole is served and become my other partner in solving-crime!" _

_Macey beamed even brighter. "I would like nothing more."_

Irene sneered at the CCTV live footage and had to hold herself back from punching the screen.

_Sentiment_. It was disgusting.

She had been betting on Macey still resenting her Uncle. Not _forgiving_ him. This was going to be harder than she originally thought.

_"And don't worry, Macey. I won't let any of those mean girls at school hurt you in any way –in fact, I won't let _anyone_ hurt you." Sherlock stood from his spot and smiled down at the young Holmes. "Mycroft is an idiot for letting you go. Though, I'm kind-of glad. If it weren't for him deserting you, I wouldn't have had the incentive to help you out. Who knows? He may have just handed me a new detective. What do you say, Macey? Can you see yourself living here in the future?"_

Irene gritted her teeth and waited for Macey's reply.

_Macey nodded slowly, tears starting to form. She had never thought in a million years that anyone would've asked her to move in, especially not by Sherlock Holmes –the man _did_ have a reputation for being heartless. "This is the _only_ place I could see myself living."_

Irene watched Sherlock give Macey a light hug and this time she did punch the screen.

"Back off, Holmes. Macey is _mine_."

**_SORRY THIS CHAPTER WAS SO SHORT. THE NEXT WILL BE LONGER, I PROMISE!_**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	7. Chapter 7

"Macey! Time to get up for-" Joan's words died in her throat as she entered Macey's room and found it completely vacant. "Macey?" Joan ventured through the hallway and made her way to the parlor. The sight she was met with was one to stop her in her tracks.

Macey and Sherlock were deep in conversation, their voices going a mile-a-minute. They were hunched over a map, markers in hand, red dots and blue dots covering certain locations on the large fold-out map.

"If he would've ditched the bag here –as an example-, he would've only had approximately five minutes and twenty-two seconds to do so. That means all you need to know is where he was at the moment of realization that he had to ditch the pink bag and then you'll have an estimate as to where he ventured between thoughts and actions. Like, if he realized he had the bag there," Macey pointed at the red dot again, "then ditched it here," She pointed to another just for an example, "that narrows down where he went in between." Macey drew a small circle around an intersection. "Security cameras caught him here-"

Sherlock butt in. "Security cameras?"

"Yes, I hacked into the server and reviewed the footage. He crossed the cameras view at 1500 hours –or, 3pm."

"Yes, I am quite familiar with military time." Sherlock huffed.

"Okay…Well, anyway, the suspect crossed the cameras frame here with the bag. By the way he walks -quickly with frantic searching- we can deduce that he has realized that he is holding the one piece of evidence that ties him to the crime. From here, he goes somewhere…probably to hide the bag. He doesn't take a cab, he walks…so that means…" She waited for Sherlock to finish the deduction.

"He couldn't have gotten far."

"Precisely. Search within a five mile radius of this intersection and you'll find your bag."

"Who says he didn't destroy it?" Joan spoke, alerting them to her presence. She crossed the floor to get a better look at the map with the dots and circles.

"This man is not what you call a 'criminal mastermind'. The thought would have never occurred to him in such a situation." Macey stated, not looking up from the map.

"How do you know?" Joan crossed her arms, knowing the only way Macey could know such a thing was by a personal experience.

Macey smirked. "I don't think I should answer that, Joan." Macey looked up to Sherlock and sighed. "Sherlock, why aren't you calling Gregson? I just cracked the case for you…this is something worth telling him."

Sherlock smirked. "The only reason you solved the case is because I helped."

"You asked _me_, Sherlock. _You_ need _me_." Macey smiled smugly.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but knew it wasn't worth the fight. Besides, she was right. "Fine." He pulled out his phone and texted Gregson, a little whirring noise a sign that it was sent. Sherlock stood and threw Joan her coat. "Come along, Joan. We should be there to help. God knows the NYPD can't do anything right."

"But, Sherlock…Macey needs a ride to school…" Joan looked at the young girl.

Macey shrugged. "It's New York. I'll just take a cab."

"You're sure?" Joan pulled on her coat.

"Of course. It's not like I'm going to be kidnapped or anything…" Macey smiled. "Besides, I can take 'em."

Joan laughed and nodded. "Alright…" She pulled out a couple twenties from her pants pocket. "Take this to pay the driver."

Macey pocketed the money and stood. "Thanks, Joan. Have fun."

Joan nodded and followed Sherlock out the door, out into the heart of the city.

Macey yawned. She really wished she would've slept last night. But, whatever. Solving a case and showing off her skills was worth way more than eight hours of brain-numbing sleep.

…

"Xavier High School, please." Macey spoke to the driver from the back of the cab.

The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.

Macey settled back into the seat and closed her eyes. She drew in a gulp of air and breathed out. School was going to be hard to get through on no sleep. She felt herself start to fade away into a peaceful sleep as the cab rolled on…

Suddenly, Macey was thrown to the right as the cab swerved to the left. Macey's head hit the glass and she cried out in pain.

The cabbie's foot lowered the pedal to the floor and the cab picked up speed.

"What the Hell? Slow down!" Macey braced herself against the handles on the door and hung on for dear life.

"Sorry, love. Can't do that." A strong male voice spoke in an English accent. "Looks like you're gonna be late for school." He sniggered.

Macey scowled. "That's what you think." She swung the door open and brought her arms inward. She hugged herself and thrust herself out onto the pavement, making sure to get far away from the cab and other on-coming cars. She rolled and slid across the pavement, skin scraping the cold, hard ground as she was thrown away from the cab. Macey fought the tears of pain and immediately stood up to run as she skidded to a stop. A couple people tried to confront her with concern to her injuries, but Macey pushed past them and sprinted for an alley-way. She hid in the shadows as the kidnapper cabbie circled back around to look for her. She ducked her head and closed her eyes as he drove by, his eyes sweeping the long alley-way. As she heard the motor fade away, she opened her eyes. She drew in a sharp intake of breath as she observed the bloody mess that was her legs and arms. Blood was trickling down her legs and arms, streaks of scarlet red. It could've been worse, though. She was just lucky that no cab in New York could get up to more than thirty-five miles an hour due to traffic and pedestrians.

Macey winced as she tried to move. She bit her lip to prevent a scream from coming out and braced herself for an explosion of pain. She stood up, her wounds gushing more blood as she did so. The pressure on her lip from her teeth increased and Macey hoped she wouldn't break skin. She definitely couldn't lose more blood.

Macey peeked out at the sidewalk and street, deciding it was best to find her way to school. Every school had a nurse, right?

She removed her coat and did her best to wipe the blood away so she wouldn't look too bad. She discarded the coat in the garbage, hoping that nobody would find it, bloody mess and all.

She got her bearings and began to make the painful trek to school.

How on Earth was she to explain _this_ to the teachers?

…

"My _God_!" An office secretary yelped as a bloodied Macey entered the school an hour late.

Macey sighed. How bad did she really look? She could only imagine.

The lady was frozen in place for a few more moments as she scanned Macey's injuries, it not occurring to her that Macey was bleeding profusely and needed medical attention.

Macey moaned as a sharp pain shot up her leg. "Which way is the nurse?"

The lady unfroze and quickly dialed a number on the desk phone. "Nurse! Emergency!"

Within a few minutes, a crowd had formed around Macey, still bleeding and tiny drops of her blood painting the linoleum.

The nurse pushed her way through and her herself was immediately struck with shock, freezing in front of her.

Macey rolled her eyes. She yelped as another sharp pain shot through her body.

The nurse shook her shock and flew into action. She called behind her for a wheel chair and sat Macey down, instantly wheeling her off for the clinic.

Irene watched from afar as Macey was wheeled away, the tiny pools of blood on the floor the only sign the girl had even been there. She scowled and pulled out her phone. She put the phone to her ear and waited for the person to pick up. "What the Hell happened, Frank?" She demanded.

_"I'm so sorry…She –she…I didn't think she'd-"_

"I don't care what you didn't think she'd do, Frank. You failed me."

_"Moriarty…please…Please don't-"_

"Frank."

_"No! Please! I have a family!"_

"_Frank_." She growled.

The man was silent.

"Employment _terminated_."

Irene didn't even jump as a shot rang out on the other side of the call. How dare he fail his mission. Macey was never supposed to get hurt. She was supposed to be taken to Irene's hideout, not injured.

Just goes to show you, if you want something done…you have to do it yourself.

…

Irene entered the clinic and looked around for the young girl. Her eyes settled on a familiar pair of consulting detectives and she ducked behind a curtain for fear of being seen.

Sherlock was showing sentiment once more. He was definitely getting soft, something that could easily be used against him…

Irene shook her head to wipe the thought from her mind. She had other things to worry about first. She tuned her ears toward the conversation.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked, concern apparent in his tone.

"Nothing…I'm fine." Macey replied, no emotion in her voice.

Sherlock gaped. "_Fine_? Macey, look at you! You're badly injured and you've lost a lot of blood!"

Macey shot him a glare. "I'm. Fine." She replied more forcefully. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"But Macey, why won't you tell us what happened? Something happened or you wouldn't be here, badly injured, and in shock."

"I'm not in shock. I'm quite fine." Macey replied, her tone impatient.

"Macey-" Joan began.

"No! I'm fine! Didn't you hear me? _I'm fine_!" She screamed. "I won't be telling you what happened because you don't need to know! You'll just make a bigger deal out of it than need be. Please, do me a favor and _get out of my life_!" Macey got up, wincing and groaning in pain, and pushed past them, limping toward the door.

Sherlock and Joan shared a concerned expression before getting up and following her.

Irene stood as they exited the room, a smile plastered on her face. An outburst…just what she needed.

Things just got a little more interesting…

**_A LOT HAPPENED IN THIS CHAPTER! HAHA. I HOPE I DIDN'T LOSE YOU! WELL, THIS STORY IS ALMOST DONE…BUT I'M BETTING YOU CAN'T TELL HOW ITS GOING TO END. THAT'S JUST WHAT I WANT! SO, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY LITTLE ACTION-PACKED CHAPTER AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REVIEW._**

**_EH, WHAT THE HECK. PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/_****AND****_ REVIEW!_**


	8. Chapter 8

**_THE END: PART 1 OF 3_**

It had been three days since Macey's incident. She had been locked up in her room, voluntarily, seeing as she did not want Joan or Sherlock to invade on her privacy. Inside, she knew it was wrong to be angry at them for just being concerned, but for some reason, it was just plain aggravating. Maybe it was because she had never had anyone care about her in any way before. Or maybe, it was because she cared too much about them to bring them into this mess that could easily get them hurt…or worse, killed. Whatever happened to her yesterday was just that, something that happened to _her_. That meant that it was _her_ problem to solve, not Joan's or Sherlock's, just _hers_. Whoever had been behind that disguise as a cabbie would dearly pay for it when Macey figured it out.

Her wounds had healed slightly, making it much easier to walk about the room, pinning security camera stills to the wall. She had found red string downstairs –having snuck around the house when the duo investigators were asleep, and tied it around the pins, the line from one to another signifying a connection.

Macey scanned her wall of papers and red string, feeling confident that she was close to figuring the mystery of who this man was and why he was after her.

She had previously thought that the man could've been after Sherlock or Joan, but dismissed the thought when she remembered that the man was particularly interested in her. If he had wanted to get at Joan or Sherlock, he would've done it directly, not through a kidnapping of a sixteen year old girl that Sherlock had met only a few days ago. This man was after her…but why? What could he possibly want that she had?

"Macey?" Joan's voice was muffled through the locked door.

Macey immediately felt herself tense up. She did not want to talk to Joan…if she did, she was afraid everything would spill out of her and Joan would tell Sherlock. She always told Sherlock, they were partners.

"Macey, I know you're in there." There was a pause. "I'm alone; Sherlock is talking with Gregson at the precinct. Please open the door and talk to me."

Macey stayed silent, hoping Joan would get the message and leave her be.

"Macey, I don't want to do this, but if you don't open the door…I'll get Sherlock over here to pick the lock and we'll force our way in." Joan's patience was wearing thin. Macey had been in her room ever since they had gotten back from the hospital, sneaking out at night for snacks and bathroom usage. Joan was worried, thinking Macey was being eaten alive by her worry and panic. Joan had tried to coax her out multiple times, but to no avail. Macey hadn't had any contact with anyone since the almost-kidnapping. A couple people from the school –Macey's new friend, Iris, included- had called to ask if she was okay, but all Joan could say is, 'I hope so'.

Macey panicked. She knew Joan wasn't lying; Sherlock could easily pick her lock. Her eyes settled on the window across the room and she got an idea.

Macey tip-toed over to it, making her steps quiet in order to keep Joan less suspicious. She pried the rusted lock open and prayed that it was screen-free. Her prayers weren't answered. A cheap plastic bug-screen blocked the only exit out of the brownstone that she could use.

Macey scowled and tried to yank the metal frame from its place. It didn't budge.

She looked at the desk beside her and felt relief when she saw a letter opener. She made quick work of cutting through the cheap plastic and lowered herself onto the fire-escape.

"Macey? _Please_." Joan urged, growing more and more anxious from the lack of response.

Macey looked down at the ground and figured that she was about ten feet up. Too far to jump…

She looked on the other side of the fire-escape and rolled her eyes. Only one way down…into the open dumpster. Was it really worth it…?

Macey hoisted herself over the edge and plummeted into the dumpster. She grit her teeth against the searing pain that ripped through her scabbed wounds and felt her eyes water with the stench of rotten trash. She hopped out into the alley and began to make her way to the sidewalk. Above her, she heard her door open and Joan call out for her. Looks like Sherlock hadn't gone out after all because he soon joined in on the calling of her name.

Joan had lied…and that made Macey even more distrustful.

Macey reached the sidewalk and decided it would be best to take a nice long walk to clear her mind. She had to admit, after being cooped up in her room for 36 hours, a walk was nice.

Macey turned the corner and nearly ran over a woman talking into her Bluetooth.

"S-sorry…" Macey apologized and looked up. "Miss Adler?"

Irene lit up and put on her best fake smile. "Macey! I was just on my way over…I heard what happened, terrible business. A kidnapper?"

Macey nodded. "Yeah, he had intentions, but I was quicker –wait. How did you know about that? I haven't told anyone about the kidnapper…"

Irene smiled. "Oh, honey. The nurse told me about it."

Macey took a step back. "I didn't say anything to the nurse…" Macey watched as the sparkle in Miss Adler's eyes faded and her eyes grew fierce. "Miss Adler?"

"Very terrible business. The poor man, he failed me. You were never intended to be hurt, my dear, I promise. You are much too valuable to damage." Irene grinned wildly.

"Failed you? What are you talking about?" Macey felt everything come together in her mind. "You…you _hired_ him to kidnap me?"

"Not kidnap you, per se…just transport you to my flat –brownstone, I mean. Still getting used to the American atmosphere, I guess." She shrugged at her comment as if the situation wasn't serious.

"He sure looked as though he wanted to kidnap me… But why, Miss Adler? What did you want from me that was so important?" Macey felt herself back up until her back was flat against the bricks of a building.

Irene stared at her and ignored the questions. "Tell me, are you and Sherlock past your little quarrel yet? Or have you finally realized that life with the duo 'detectives' –as they call themselves- is just holding you back?"

"How did you know about our fight?"

"Oh, sweetie. I know everything that goes on…Now tell me this. What would you say if I had a way for you to get back at the petty man?" Irene smirked, watching Macey's eyes go wide in interest.

Macey thought it over. She was still boiling about how they were trying to invade on her life like it was their responsibility and, even though she had said otherwise, she was still a tiny bit insulted by Sherlock's earlier comment of 'low-life criminal'. Joan had also lied to her about Sherlock not being in the brownstone, making Macey feel betrayed. She didn't know if it was the adrenaline from the fear of Miss Adler and how she was suddenly a villain, or if it was the revenge-seeking side of her that made the idea of Sherlock reeling that made the statement so appealing.

"Think it over, Macey. You could either live with them and have your talent wasted…or…"

"Or?"

"_Or_ you could live with me and have your skills sharpened. Learn alongside me and I can teach you to be the best criminal this world has ever seen."

"I don't want to be a criminal…" Macey ducked her head. "I've learned, from experience, that being a criminal is not satisfying."

"With me it is."

Macey let the silence between them settle so she could think clearly. It sounded appealing, but she knew it was wrong. Joan had once told her that she was exceptional at knowing when something was wrong and knowing not to do it, but…the tiny voice from the back of her mind told her otherwise.

"Think about how torn apart_ Sherly_ will be." Irene let his nickname roll off her tongue playfully.

Macey clenched her fists and met Irene's gaze. She had made a decision.

"Tell me what I have to do."

**_So do you think Macey will go along with it? AH, the angst in this story, its killing me! So this is probably the first part of the end. There will probably be two more chapters making this ending a trilogy! :D Then I will be finishing The Graveyard Visitor. Then after that…well, we'll leave that sad piece of news for the end of The Graveyard Visitor. _**

**_I may even update Dog Days (ITS BEEN AWHILE). So, yeah._**

**_If you enjoyed, please FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	9. Chapter 9

**_THE END: PART 2 OF 3_**

Sherlock navigated his way through the sea of NYPD work desks, his destination being Captain Gregson's private office. He burst in –this being his natural way of entering the office- and immediately began to speak. "Captain, we have a problem. It's Macey. She's gone. She has been since yesterday at noon." Sherlock had to fight the lump that had formed in his throat and the sting that was present in his eyes.

Joan entered the room after Sherlock, breathing hard. It was apparent that she had run after Sherlock when he had bolted into the NYPD headquarters, leaving her behind.

Captain Gregson hadn't flinched when the consulting detective burst into the room. His gaze traveled up towards the pair of investigators. "I know." He croaked, sweat glistening his exposed skin.

Sherlock wasn't expecting that answer. "What? How do you know?"

Gregson remained seated, frozen in place. "Security…at the bank..." A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, "N-never mind…"

Joan moved so that she was near his desk. "Capt-"

"**-**Don't." Captain Gregson pleaded, cutting her off and stopping her in her tracks. "Don't come closer."

Sherlock knew something was seriously wrong. Sherlock observed the Captain's strange behavior as he sat, wired to his desk chair. The man was on edge, either because of nerves or impending danger. His overactive mind began making possibilities, theories, and deductions so fast that for a moment, he forgot that the situation was dire. He made a slight movement towards the man, only to be stopped by Captain Gregson's hand, held up in a gesture meaning 'stay back…or else'. "Captain?" He pressed on, hoping for an explanation.

"No…I can't…Please, Sherlock…Save yourself…" The Captain babbled.

Sherlock began to respond, but he was cut off before he could form a full sentence.

"I'd listen to him if I were you, you wouldn't want to be caught in the middle, Sherlock." A familiar voice of a woman spoke from the corner of the room.

The voice was still foreign in a sense –thinking for years that the woman was American, but he didn't need anyone to tell him who she was despite that fact. "Moriarty." Sherlock didn't even need to turn around to know it was her.

"But I'm not alone, Sherlock…Not anymore." Her tone implicated a smile.

Joan was the first to turn around to face the once vulnerable woman. "Sherlock? Turn around."

Sherlock could hear the disbelief and terror in her voice. He slowly turned around and his confidence was shaken from the sight.

Macey stood in front of Moriarty –formerly Miss Adler- a gun pointed directly at Sherlock's chest. Her stance was steady, meaning she was confident and not being pressured to do anything. Her eyes were wide with pleasure, a tell-tale sign that she was satisfied with his reaction to seeing her. "Hello, Uncle. Miss me?" An evil smirk played at her lips.

Moriarty had a gun in one hand pointed at Joan and another in the other pointed at Captain Gregson, keeping the Captain in his chair and unable to retrieve help. "You see, Sherly, Macey here has finally realized her true potential. Once a criminal, always a criminal…but this time, she's better off because she's with me." A smirk –exactly like Macey's- appeared on her lips.

Sherlock stared at Macey, dumbfounded by the sudden change in attitude. "Macey? What…why? How?"

"So many questions, but so little time, I'm afraid. Now, if you don't mind, please enlighten us with the details about the pink lady's case." Macey's sardonic smirk never left her lips.

If Sherlock was confused before, he was really confused now. "What? Why?"

"Let's just say that I'm interested." Macey's hand tremored slightly, making her grip on the gun loosen a bit.

Sherlock took in her physical response to the situation at hand. She was terrified, nervous, and excited. The danger had pumped her full of adrenaline and she was enjoying every minute of Sherlock's panic and the frightened look on Joan's face. "You're_ enjoying _this…how can you be enjoying this?"

Macey's eyes darkened. "You should know. How did it feel to torture Sebastian Moran? Did it feel good? Did it give you _satisfaction_?" Macey's tone was playful, mocking even.

Sherlock frowned. "That was different. I had thought he had killed Irene. I had a reason to do so."

"And you enjoyed it. It's the same thing." Macey pointed out. Her smile turned into a scowl.

"So, what's your reason for this?" He motioned to Moriarty. "This –this partnership. What is your reason behind it?"

"Well, you should know. You said it yourself! I'm nothing but a low-life criminal!" Macey's eyes narrowed. "And don't tell me you didn't mean it. I'm just as smart as you, maybe even smarter! I saw it in your eyes as you said it. You _meant_ it. You _believed_ it. You _know _it!" She growled. "How can you think I'd just let that go? I mean, I'm used to be called a criminal, but why should I take that abuse from you? It hurt that my father agreed with the statement enough to send me to that parole house, but when you did it just for penance?! That crosses a line."

Sherlock gasped. He remembered calling what he was doing for Macey penance, but that had been just between Joan and him. How had she known? "How did you-"

"Never mind that, Sherlock. What matters now is that you tell us the details of the late Delia Strafford, aka 'The Pink Lady'." Macey's anger made her impatient –more than she had been before. Her grip on the gun tightened and her finger twitched on the trigger.

Joan watched the conversation between Macey and her uncle, knowing that Macey's anger stemmed off of his disappointment in her and what she had done. "Macey."

Macey's eyes snapped toward her gaze.

"Macey, please…put the gun down. Moriarty is messing with your emotions…" Joan pleaded. She had never seen someone so conflicted with their emotions.

Moriarty could feel Macey's discomfort with trying to keep up the evil-act toward Joan. "Macey, don't you dare put that gun down."

"I wasn't planning to." Macey replied, monotone. Her gaze ripped away from Joan, hoping that if she just ignored the woman that she would stay out of her fight with Sherlock. Macey knew that if Joan didn't stay out of it, that the consulting detective to Sherlock would pay for it with her life.

Moriarty grinned. "Good, Macey. Now, forget about the whole pink lady thing and do what I told you to do."

Macey clicked the gun off safety and glared at her uncle. "This is what you deserve, Sherlock."

"Please, Macey. No…" Sherlock began to tear up. A tear rolled down his face and he could feel his heart racing at a dangerous pace.

Joan stared in horror at the sight. "Macey…" She sobbed. "Think about what you're about to do."

Macey didn't take her eyes off of Sherlock. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Moriarty fidgeted impatiently. "Macey, I'm _waiting_." She urged. "Do it. Do it now."

Macey smiled. "I am. I know exactly what I'm going to do and I know it's right. Thanks, Joan. You helped me realize that what I'm about to do it right, no matter what anyone tells me."

Joan screamed as the gun went off, hitting its target dead in the chest.

Macey had done it. She had_ actually_ done it.

**_Uh-oh. Macey is in trouble now! So this was the second installment of this trilogy ending! The third is already written. I will be posting that sometime this weekend or early next week!_**

**_Thanks, as always, and please FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	10. Chapter 10

**_THE END: PART THREE OF THREE – THE ENDING._**

The blast from the gun at close range was so powerful that Irene was thrown back against the wall, her head smacking against the hard, wooded panels. Stars burst into her vision, making her head spin. She stared down at her chest and noticed blood spreading across the white fibers of her blouse beneath her half-open leather jacket. "Y-you shot me…I can't believe…you s-shot me…" She choked out, blood present at the back of her throat.

Macey dropped the gun and started to heave uncontrollably. She had just shot someone...how? She had used a gun before, but never to _kill _someone. The gun had always been a relief from boredom…not a weapon!

Sherlock noticed Macey's reaction and wrapped his arms around her. "Macey, calm down. Its okay…You have to slow your breathing down…" Sherlock stroked her hair. "Macey…_Macey_! Please, slow your breathing." He knew if she didn't, she would pass out in his arms.

Joan –being the ex-doctor that she was- jumped into action and ran to Irene. She ripped the leather jacket off of the woman and placed it on the bullet wound. She applied pressure, partly to stop the bleeding and partly to keep Irene on her feet, against the wall.

Irene shoved her hands away and glared. "G-get away from m-me..." Irene growled, her words stuttering and slightly slurring.

"You'll _die_ if I don't help you." Joan answered, reapplying pressure on the wound that was gushing blood.

Irene nodded tiredly, her eyes rolling back in her head, and slumped to the floor, her body going limp.

"Captain! Get help!" Joan demanded, looking up at the older man who had gotten up from his chair during the commotion and was now staring in horror at the scene playing out before him.

He nodded and yanked his office door open. "Bell! Call a bus! Bullet wound, possibly to the heart! Hurry!" Gregson crossed the floor, making his way over to Joan, ready to offer his help. "Is she going to be…?" He couldn't finish his sentence. He knelt down by Irene's body.

Joan looked up at him and shook her head.

Gregson pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus." He mumbled quietly.

Sherlock sat Macey in a chair and assessed how to take care of Macey's condition. Sherlock ran out the office door and made it to the break room. He rummaged through the cupboards until he found a brown paper lunch-bag for Macey to breathe into. He raced back to the room, only to have a group of medics cut him off from the room.

"Can't go in there, buddy. Big mess." A man held his hand up to stop Sherlock from going any further.

"My niece…She's-"

"Being taken care of." He cut him off. "You can see her after she's booked."

"Booked?"

"She just shot someone…of course she's being booked." He rolled his eyes and turned back toward the door, not letting Sherlock past.

Joan felt Moriarty's pulse and sighed. "Guys, I'm calling it." Joan stood, letting the medics take her body from the floor and transport it onto a gurney.

They pushed the gurney through the door just as the cuffs were secured around Macey's wrists. "Macey Ann Holmes, you are being arrested on the charge of the murder of Miss Irene Adler."

Sherlock pushed through the guard at the door and approached the officers behind Macey. "No, it was self-defense. _Please_ don't take her…" He begged.

Bell appeared beside Sherlock and set a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. The law is the law. I don't want to, but I have to."

Sherlock shrugged the hand off and tried to release the officers grasp on Macey's arm. "No! You cannot take her away!"

"Sherlock-" Bell started.

"No!" He tried to slug the officer in the eye, but Bell stopped him.

"Holmes! If you assault him, I'll have to book you too. Now how will that help Macey?" Bell restrained the consulting detective's fist behind his back and spoke in the man's ear. "If you want to help her, you'll have to keep yourself out of trouble, too." He released Sherlock's arm just as Macey was pushed out of the room.

"Macey!" Sherlock ran up behind the officer, ignoring Bell's warning, and pulled him backwards.

"Holmes! What did I say?!" Bell pushed Sherlock away from the officer who was now on the ground and helped the man to his feet.

"It was self-defense! Plus, she did the state of New York a favor! This woman is –was- Moriarty! You all know that!"

"Even so, she did just kill her." Bell explained.

"To save _me_!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sherlock-" Joan appeared behind him and placed a hand on his back.

"No, _no_! What are you? _Idiots_? This person, this _woman_, was Moriarty! Macey did this city a favor! And you're arresting her? You lot must be complete morons or just plain brain-dead!" Sherlock screamed.

"Sherlock, stop! Just…_stop_. I killed her, and am I sorry? Yes. But that doesn't matter. I killed her and I have to pay for it, so please…Just stop and let them arrest me." Macey cried. "She was right, Sherlock. Once a criminal, always a criminal."

The officers yanked her out of the room, her final destination being the slammer.

…

"You are now allowed to see her…but only for a minute or so, Sherlock. After this, no more favors." The warden unlocked the cell door and allowed Sherlock and his companion inside.

Macey was sitting against the wall, a bouncy ball clutched in her hands, and humming lightly to herself. She didn't even look up as the pair entered the cell, the door locking behind them.

"Ma-" Sherlock began.

"Don't." Macey responded. She threw the ball against the wall and caught it as it came bouncing back.

Sherlock and Joan exchanged worried looks. Joan walked over to her and slid into the spot next to her. Joan didn't speak, knowing Macey would acknowledge her if she wanted to talk.

Macey glanced sideways at Joan and sighed. "I suppose you want me to apologize for my actions?"

Joan shook her head silently.

Macey turned towards her slightly. "Really? 'Cause that's what everyone else wants."

"I believe what you did was out of concern for our safety. You were never going to hurt us. You were just playing Moriarty." Joan smiled lightly, watching Macey throw the ball again.

Macey nodded once. "You have to know, I would never let anything happen to you," Macey looked up at her Uncle, "or you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled at his niece. "Same thing goes for you, Macey, that's why I have my brother on hand."

Macey cocked her head to the side and blinked at him. "What? My…dad?"

Sherlock nodded. "I may have told a little white lie saying that it was me on trial, but nonetheless, you're going free."

Macey stared straight ahead at the wall. "I told you not to intervene."

"And I told _you_ I don't listen well."

Macey let out a soft laugh. "I know, remember? We're alike, you and I. We both don't take directions seriously."

"Lucky for me, or I'd be dead right now." Sherlock chuckled. "But, I knew the whole time that you wouldn't hurt me, Macey. You're too good of a kid."

Macey beamed. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"Sherlock, you and your companion must go now." The warden unlocked the cell door and motioned for them to exit.

Sherlock helped Joan up and bent down to kiss Macey's forehead. He felt her tense slightly under his lips. "Oh, sorry…I keep forgetting you don't like to be touched."

Macey sighed. "It's okay. To tell you the truth, I'm learning to like it." She gave them a smile as they exited the cell and went on their way.

…

"And how do you find the defendant?" The judge asked the jury.

"We find the defendant, Macey Ann Holmes, not guilty for the murder of Irene Adler, a.k.a. Moriarty." The lone juror spoke for the entire jury.

Everyone in the court room stood up and cheered, not caring if it was proper or not to do so. Who could blame them? In their eyes, Macey should've never gone to court anyways. Moriarty was dead, thanks to her. That was better than Moriarty being locked up, seeing as she'd just find a way to break out anyway.

Macey sat in one of the chairs behind the defense table and instantly felt relief wash over her. She was free and this time, she'd remain out of trouble to stay that way. As a bonus, Sherlock had gotten her father to lift her parole (after a little white-lie-telling, of course), meaning she'd never have to go back to the women's correctional house ever again. She would never have to return to London ever again. She could stay in New York with her Uncle and his soon-to-be girlfriend (Joan Watson, if her suspicions were confirmed).

"Congratulations, Macey. You are free to go as soon as you finish some final paperwork." The judge had approached her table and was now offering his hand.

Macey took his hand and shook it. "You're the judge, aren't you supposed to be unbiased?"

"_Supposed_ to be, yes, but truthfully," He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I was rooting for you the whole time." He leaned away and smiled at her. "Good luck, Macey, I wish you all the happiness in the world." He took his leave and left her standing alone.

Macey smirked. Now she had a judge on her side.

"Hey, girlie." A familiar teenage girl voice sounded behind her.

Macey smiled. "Iris." She turned and approached the girl. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Iris rolled her eyes. "I couldn't just sit at home and wait for a verdict." Iris grinned, "Plus, I got a few days off of school."

"So did I." Macey and her friend burst out laughing and got a few weird looks. "We probably shouldn't laugh after I just nearly got out of a murder charge…"

"True that." Iris whispered. "So, when are you returning to school?"

"If I had it my way, never, but Sherlock wants me to return as soon as possible."

"I agree with him. If I were you, return as soon as possible to put the rumors to rest." Iris responded.

"Rumors?"

"There are a lot. Like how you are now a criminal mastermind, that you're a cold-blooded murderer, or that you are a spy for the British Government and you were sent here to spy on us."

"Yeah, 'cause the British Government is concerned with the behavior of American teenagers at Xavier High School in New York." Macey joked.

Iris laughed, softer this time to not attract attention. "And especially with all the _geniuses_ at Xavier High."

Macey laughed. "The students aren't _all_ bad…"

"Tell that to the geniuses in Science class. They thought you were lying about living in London because you don't have the accent." Iris smirked. "Idiots."

Macey laughed. "Morons! I don't have the accent because I was born here in the United States and moved there when I was two. Not everyone in London has an accent! I taught myself not to conform to the accent, even though I've heard it's more attractive…"

Iris laughed.

"And the fact that I've spent the last how many years of my life in a parole house, locked in my room for most of the day, not talking to people, and avoiding everyone I could, the fact that I do not have the accent shouldn't be much of a surprise." Macey's attention was caught from a person behind Iris.

Sherlock came up to the two girls and smiled. "I heard that you only need to finish some paperwork and you're free to go home. Please tell me that you're going to stay with Joan and I…because I've already prepared a room."

Macey nodded. "Of course, Sherlock. That is where I belong."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes it is." Sherlock nodded curtly at Iris and redirected his attention toward Macey. "Joan and I will be waiting by the exit once you're all set to go." With that, he took his leave, linking his arm with Joan's and exiting the courtroom.

Suspicion confirmed! Macey grinned at her perfect deduction that the two would actually get together. "Ha. I could see that happening a mile away."

Iris smirked. "You're just so clever. Hope that rubs off on me! Don't forget that you promised to teach me your skills!"

"I would never forget." Macey smiled. "See you at school?"

"You know it!" Iris gave her a hug and bounded away, reuniting with her parents by the door. She waved goodbye to Macey and left the courtroom.

Macey took a deep breath and breathed out. "Free…at last."

…

Macey stepped out of the courtroom, feeling the breeze on her face for the first time in the six weeks she had spent in a cell. Her eyes swept the steps and found Sherlock and Joan waiting for her off to the side. She ducked behind a pillar to avoid the press and met up with them, turning away to hide her face from the 'paparazzi'.

"Ready to go?" Joan smiled at her, her hand intertwined with Sherlock's.

Macey glanced at their clasped hands and smirked. "Yup. Let's go home."

Sherlock stopped them both by calling them back. "Wait! I have something for you, Macey."

"Something for me?" Macey looked to Joan and found her just as confused.

Sherlock produced a small jewelry box from his jacket-pocket and handed it to her. "Just a little something I saw in a jewelry shop…"

Macey opened the box and gasped. A gold necklace with a pendant that read 'Macey' was shining up at her. "It's…beautiful…" Her eyes welled up and she went in for a hug. "Thank you, Sherlock, thank you so much." She whispered into his chest.

Sherlock embraced her and kissed the top of her head. "I just wanted you to know you're loved."

Macey hugged him tighter. "You're making me cry, Sherlock…I haven't cried like this in years."

Sherlock gasped mockingly. "The _tough_ Macey Holmes is _crying_?"

She punched him playfully in the arm. "Oh, shut up." She wiped her eyes and smirked up at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked, now suspicious.

Macey's smirk grew. "I'll pay for the cab." Macey turned and bounded down the steps.

"_You'll_ pay? You have that kind of money?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

"Now I do." Macey flashed Sherlock's wallet that she had swiped during their embrace and took off running, laughing as she ran.

Sherlock searched his pockets and frowned. How had he not felt that? "Get back here!" He commanded in a mock angry tone.

Joan rolled her eyes at the sight of Sherlock chasing after his niece in front of the courthouse. "Great, so now I live with _two_ children."

But what could she say? One couldn't be more like the other.

**_THANKS FOR READING MY STORY! _**

**_I WOULD LIKE TO THANK SO MANY PEOPLE FOR THE SUPPORT, BUT I HAVE TO THANK marshmallowdeviant THE MOST. SHE HELPED ME WHEN I LOST ALL INSPIRATION BY SENDING ME GOOD VIBES AND WHENEVER I NEEDED IT, SHE SENT ME ADVICE. I WOULD'VE NEVER EVER FINISHED THIS STORY IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, GIRL! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! PLEASE NEVER STOP BEING AWESOME! ;D_**

**_I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO THANK: AtTheBrownstone, marshmallowdeviant, JoanLock, Elementary Fan, red2013, SphereOfEvil, Jp, WayWardWonderer, TheOtherHalfBloodPrince, PrettyPrettyPony, LucyMiller, ThePenIsMighty, ANVera, Ashlee Jacobson, CAMMIE17, Krikanalo, and all the unknown Guests that reviewed! Thank you to all who Followed and Favorited too!_**

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